Injured
by KellyJade
Summary: Kenzi is hurt, and unfortunately for her, being hurt generally means being treated by a doctor. Rated T for language.


"Bo, it's fine! Calm down for like, half a second." I attempt to sit up. Oooooh, bad call. "Oh, oh, ow, okay, maybe it's not quite as fine as I thought."

I hear Bo huff all her breath out at once. Uh oh, angry succubus. "Kenzi! Today of all days? How did this even happen?" She throws down her kick-arsenal of weapons on the floor by the hallway door and storms through the kitchen to where I'm sprawled on the couch. "Jesus!" She sees the full gash running up my side – actually she probably just sees the blood everywhere (ew). "Kenzi!" she repeats shrilly.

"Well I didn't know!" I say defensively (also painfully, speaking too loudly is starting to feel like cuddling with hot coals.) "I went out with an old friend – and who knew, apparently the Russian mob is getting a little more intense than I remembered."

She just stares at me, her concern mixing with her unmistakable disbelief. Hmm, she reminds me of my mom sometimes. "You've been mixing it up with actual supernatural beings and you get almost sliced in half like this from _humans_? What were you, drunk?"

Heh. "Well…"

She sighs. "Okay, well at least that makes a little more sense." She pulls a cell phone out of her pants pocket (how it fit in there I have no idea, the girl's leather is basically painted on) and holds it to her ear. "You know I have this goddamn meeting with the Morrigan today, I can't stay with you, but you need to get this taken care of – Hey, Lauren?"

Oh, perfect. "Seriously, Bo, it'll be fine – I just need like… like a really big band aid."

She pauses in her conversation by placing her hand over the mouthpiece of her phone. "That knife wound goes from your hipbone to almost your shoulder," she hisses at me, before removing her palm from the phone. "Kenzi's got herself seriously hurt," she says quickly. I listen to the rest of her conversation and start to wish I'd just pass out from the blood loss already. "I know you're probably super busy but could you please come over for just a little and look at her? You know I can't today… Yeah, the Morrigan. Could you? Oh god, thanks Lauren, you're the best." She hangs up the phone.

I try and give her the snarkiest look as I can, considering I feel like I'm being sawed in half. "Oh goodie, Lauren."

Bo sighs, obviously frustrated. "Listen honey, I know you don't like her but you really need some help." She kneels down to look me in the eye as I lie there, bleeding all over the fucking futon. "You're hurt and I care about you. Can you just do this for me?"

Damn it, Bo. Well, at least she's definitely nicer than my mom. "Alright," I moan, rolling my head over to face the ceiling. "Send in the god damn lab coat." An image of Lauren in that lab coat immediately swims to the front of my brain as I say the words. Ah! Abort!

Luckily Bo squeezes the hand on my uninjured arm as she gets up from my side, and I snap out of it. "Thanks. I have to go – take care of yourself honey, you're the only Kenzi I've got."

"Good luck with the Morrigan," I moan, pitying myself as I hear her rummage through her weapons by the door, and soon I hear the door slam.

So I guess Lauren is coming. Brilliant. I don't make it a secret that I don't like associating with the Light Fae's resident lady Doctor. Ask anyone – I am quite good at expressing my disapproval, and hanging out with Lauren is something I disapprove of. Look at what Bo just said – "_I know you don't like her but you really need some help_."

Yeah, that sentence is good at illustrating how much I complain about Lauren. But interestingly, it's also dead wrong.

I like Lauren. I like her a lot. And that is why being around her could turn into a very, very big shit show.

I sigh, and close my eyes tightly. Honestly I don't know what the hell it is about that girl – I'm straight, just clearing that up. Boys have always been my one and only. Even Bo does nothing for me, and her whole damn purpose in life is to turn all the boys and girls into googly eyed messes. So why the hell can't I stop thinking about that damn doctor's blonde hair clutched in my fists and her perfect lips moaning as I tear that sexy ass lab coat off and –

No. No, no, no. Stop that, you treacherous brain. "Why I am doing this to myself?" I groan out load.

"Well, I assume your injury resulted from some activity involving reckless temptation, which you seem to have a weakness to," comes a drawl from the doorway.

I jerk my neck back fast enough to crack it as I strain to see her (upside down because of how I'm lying on the couch). She focuses in my line of sight just quick enough for me to catch her glance to the two empty bottles of vodka on the kitchen table, which Bo had been too flustered to notice. "Or you were just very intoxicated," she adds thoughtfully.

I decide to not respond to that. Honestly, I am too pissed off, both at her and at myself. So many things about her just inexplicably drive me crazy. Her voice – its careful cadence and softness. Her obvious intelligence and quick observation. I cringe inwardly. That's another reason I hate being around her, by the way. If anyone's going to notice me drooling all over the place, it's Dr. Lauren Lewis.

She moves briskly toward the couch. She looks absolutely amazing, as always. Her hair is straight today, falling down just past her shoulders. She's wearing a simple t shirt and jeans instead of her lab coat, but damn, her body makes up for it. Her eyes are their usual warm, deep brown – and I see them widen as she looks at the blood, (which by the way, is fucking _everywhere_ now, I've been bleeding like a leaky permanent marker). "Bo didn't mention the extent of your injuries on the phone," she mumbles, reaching my side, instantly dropping to her knees (STOP IT, brain), and opening her doctor's bag. "This is very deep," she finishes simply, eyeing the small portion of the cut you can see from where my tank top rides up.

"Yeah well, in case you haven't noticed, the extent of my injuries is ruining this couch." I decide snarky is a good way to go. This is usually the safe route whenever I'm confronted with the object of my majorly weird affection.

But then again, usually the object of said affections doesn't try to take my shirt off. "WHOA, what are you doing?" I squeal, as I feel her fingertips start to lift the bottom of my tank top, and _just_ graze the skin of my stomach, making it feel like I've been zapped with a bolt of lightning. "This is not a free show," I manage to gasp.

She just looks back at me with that calm doctor expression of hers. "I'm sorry, but if I'm going to dress this wound it needs to come off."

I wonder if she can see the colour drain out of my face, or if all of it has already drained out of my massive knife wound. "Well… just try and keep it PG, Doctor," I say lamely.

I'm almost passing out from the pain and the unbelievable inappropriate feelings, but I don't miss her smirk. "I'll try my best, Kenzi." She puts her hand back on my shirt and her other lifts my arm up so she can get it off. Needless to say, I almost explode. "Just try and stay still," she says calmly.

God she smells good. Even though I'm prepared for it this time, the feel of her fingertips against my skin is so intoxicating I almost don't even feel the excruciating pain of the knife wound (almost).

She coaxes the shirt over my head, and I can actually feel blood squirt out of the side of my stomach as I move my torso. First, ewww. Second, oh god fucking damn it does that ever hurt. "MotherFUCKER," I squeal.

My eyes are squeezed shut from the pain but I can imagine her concerned expression. Her strong arms hold me down to the couch to stop my squirming. "Kenzi, hold still, you're very hurt."

"Oh really?" I spit through my clenched teeth. "I thought being cut up like a piece of human sushi was normal." I hear her soft laugh, my eyes are still closed. "I'm sorry, but are you really laughing at my pain, Doctor?"

She apparently decides it's safe to let go of me, and then I hear the sound of a bandage tearing. "No, I'm laughing at you, Kenzi. You're a funny girl, you know."

Her matter of fact-ness pisses me off. But mostly it just turns me on. I open my eyes. She's looking into them, and then I'm just too lost to think of anything cutthroat to say. "Well thanks, Lauren." A small surprised smile appears on her face as she looks down to her bag to remove some sort of cream. "What?" I say.

"That was nice," she replies, looking up at me again. "You're not nice to me very often. So naturally it made me smile." She puts some of the cream on her fingers and touches it to my side. It hurts still, but the cream seems to have an immediate effect – it is cool, and my sharpness of the pain seems to lessen a bit. "It's a Fae invention," Lauren explains. Her voice has a quiet excitement. A quiet, nerdy, excitement. "It's genius really – it's an antiseptic, an analgesic and a substitute for stitches all in one. It actually will begin to bind your skin back together."

She's adorable when she geeks out. But I'm stuck on what she said before. "Me being nice made you smile? Why? Since when do you care?" I've always been pretty much a straight up bitch to her. I just assumed she doesn't like me.

She finishes applying the cream to the part of the cut she can get at. The thing is, the knife also sliced through my bra a bit, and everything's sort of shifted so the last bit of the cut is covered. Lauren has noticed this, apparently. "I need to take this off," she says. I'm starting to figure this situation can't get any worse, so I just nod, hoping she'll answer my question and also hoping the pain keeps me from becoming… uh, too visibly interested, let's say.

Her fingers slip around my back and unhook my bra with expertise (well, I guess she _is_ a lesbian). She lifts it off, and immediately starts applying cream to the now uncovered part of the wound. She's so professional (god I wish she wasn't). And then – "I care because I like you," she says simply.

It's actually a moment before I remember what she's talking about because _I am shirtless and she's touching me_ but then it comes back. I don't really know how to respond, which is kind of a first for me. "You do?" I finally say. Nice, Kenzi. Very eloquent. "But…"

She seems to guess what I mean to say, even though I'm about as coherent as a brick wall. She stares me straight in the eyes again, and for a moment pauses in unravelling a bandage. I'm pretty sure my heart stops for a second. "I know you don't like me, Kenzi," she says softly. "But that doesn't change how I feel about you."

Wait, what? "Wait, what?"

She laughs. She lays the bandage across my now cream covered wound, and starts to secure it with surgical tape. "Just what I said. I like you."

Okay that's not enough elaboration, Doctor Hotpants (and oh man, do I ever mean that nickname when I say it). "But when you say you like me… I don't suppose you mean you like me like… like me." Fuck, why can't I just say words like a normal person?

She seems to get it though. She applies the last strip of tape to my side and then just sort of stares at me. "I'm not one to pine over girls who don't have any capacity to feel the same for me," she replies finally.

So, let's just back up for a minute. Hi, I'm Kenzi. I'm a fucking _expert_ at evasive answers. I give evasive answers for a living. I'm a human, on the run from my own family, the human cops, and even several tavern owners. So I can't tell any of them anything about my life. I live with a goddamn supernatural creature and can't tell anyone about that. And I have a massive thing for my supernatural roomie's potential love interest. Can't tell anyone about that. Practically everything I say is an evasive answer. What Lauren just said? That was evasive as fuck, honey.

"That was evasive as fuck, honey," I say bluntly. I sit up. It hurts, but it feels way better – the doctor is good at her job. She and I are at equal height now, nose to nose.

She seems to be having trouble finding words. Well, well, the all knowing scientist herself is speechless. We are so close together. I can feel her eyes pouring into mine and I'm imagining everything I've ever thought about doing with her and it's fast getting out of control. This would be a great time for me to come up with something clever to say. However, I seem to be incapable of this.

Okay, once again. Hi, I'm Kenzi. I don't fuck around with things. If I have something to say, I say it. If I have something I think I can do, I do it. I watched a freaky ass stranger suck the life out of a dude through his face. I woke up in her apartment and asked her to be my business partner. I'm a ninety pound human working with things that _feed_ on humans to stay alive. I don't fuck around.

So I decide – Yeah, I'm going to kiss Lauren. And I do.

I don't want to sound like a cheesy Hallmark card, but it's everything I imagined it to be. First of all – she's kissing me back. She's absolutely kissing me back. Her tongue runs against my lower lip and then she slides her tongue into my mouth. I grasp at her hair and pull her face towards mine, just wanting to kiss her more, kiss her harder. She moves herself quickly and effortlessly from the floor to the couch.

She's on top of me. I'm lying down on the bloodstained (oops) futon and Lauren is on top of me, kissing me, sliding her leg subtly between mine. My hand is still entwined in her hair, and my other rests just above the line of her jeans, feeling the smoothness of her exposed skin. Her right hand is holding her upright on the couch, keeping herself from putting pressure on my injured side. Her left hand is… moving up my torso. My naked torso.

I moan into her mouth as her fingers reach their destination. Her leg moves closer to my body and I'm in ecstasy. I've imagined her touching me like this a thousand times, and nothing even compares a little bit…

And then I hear the worst sound ever. My phone rings. Lauren startles, seems to realize what she's doing. I'm still groggy on account of the awesome, but she lifts herself off me, bolts upright and grabs my phone from the coffee table. "It's Bo," she says curtly.

Bo. Crap. "She always calls when she's heading home," I say.

There is silence for a moment. "I should go," she says, her eyes frantic, but I notice, not angry. Not regretful. She looks at me, and my heart lifts as I see her smile a bit. Fuck, I'm such a girl. "This is unexpected, but nice," she says.

"I think so," I reply. It's all I can say.

"You should get dressed," she says quickly, gathering her surgical tape and bandages from the floor and storing it all in her doctor's bag. When she's packed, she looks at me one last time. There's the smile again. "You'll be okay, Kenzi."

And she's gone.


End file.
